


Thought You Meant You Had A Gun

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Nerd/Cheerleader!AU, Slightly sexual but nothing too graphic, highschool!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:44:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson loses his virginity to the one and only Kurt Hummel--except, it's not as sweet as it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thought You Meant You Had A Gun

**Author's Note:**

> Based on both the recent influx of nerd/cheerleader!AU's, and also the song 'Allie' by Patrick Stump, which you should all go look up and listen to and love, like I do.

Blaine wasn't sure how he ended up here—being jostled and bumped and spilled on by a myriad of William McKinley high schoolers. He had his own drink in hand, untouched; and yet his head was swimming. He had never been to one of these typical high school parties, with booze and topless chicks and seemingly no care for who or what you were making out with. The air was thick with the stench of barf, of sex, and if Blaine was right, of weed.

It was overwhelming and disappointing simultaneously.

"Anderson?" Azimio Adams, just one of the resident homophobic jocks turned only slightly less homophobic thanks to a certain head cheerleader, looked Blaine up and down. "Th'fuck're you doing here?"

"I was invited on FaceBook."

Azimio grunted. "Probably Hummel." He deduced before waddling off, sloshing his red plastic cup everywhere. Blaine watched him leave, a little shocked. Hummel, as in Head Cheerleader, Head Bitch in Charge, The Kid Who Made Being Gay OKAY At WHMS  _Kurt Hummel_  was the one who had invited him?

No way.

There was no way.

Nerves suddenly igniting in his fingertips, Blaine downed his entire drink and hurried around for more.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since Azimio had mentioned Kurt, but when Blaine finally looked at the clock again it was only because his cup was being plucked from his grasp and tossed in the garbage. He made a distressed noise, and turned to the jerk who'd done so.

Kurt smirked back at him, and suddenly fingers were latched through his belt loops. "Hello, Blaine."

"Kurt Hummel?"

Kurt laughed, a harsh tinkling noise—like some sort of melody made of breaking glass. "Yeah, Kurt Hummel." He mimicked. They backed up, countering each step until they hit the stairs, where Kurt all but dragged Blaine up. "And you're Blaine Anderson, and you want into my pants."

That wasn't true. Blaine had never actually had sex—he'd never looked at porn, even. Sure he thought Kurt was the hottest thing this side of the Mississippi. That didn't mean he wanted to sleep with him. (Well, not right now. He'd rather have a date and a sweet goodnight kiss more than anything.)

(But, surprise surprise, his alcohol addled brain wasn't going to remind him of that now.)

Kurt flopped onto the bed and Blaine wondered vaguely if the door was locked. But it didn't matter when Kurt tugged him onto the bed by his tie and smothered his mouth in a kiss that wasted no time in becoming messy. Kurt wound his body around Blaine's, rutting against him and causing the flimsy bedframe to rock as well.

Blaine shuddered and groaned, taking hold of Kurt's hips. "Shit, shit, fuck, you're so hot." Words came tumbling out of his mouth as he watched Kurt come undone below him.

Kurt shot him a grin and squirmed away to wriggle out of his clothes. "And you are over dressed." But rather than leaving Blaine to his own clothes, Kurt took initiative and popped the buttons—to both Blaine's shirt as well as his pants—open with ease. Blaine blinked and realized he was naked, clothes mixed with Kurt's and strewn about the already messy room. He didn't have time to dwell on how he would've rathered folding the clothes properly because Kurt had pulled him back down for kisses and thrusting and rutting and delicious friction.

Kurt keened and reached into the bed table. "Need you to fuck me, need your cock."

Blaine's vision swam with the words, and it was then that he realized he still had his glasses on, and they were fogging up his view of debauched Kurt. He took them off while reaching for the lube from Kurt. Even if he wasn't particularly intrigued in sex, he knew how it worked. Blaine drizzled lube on his fingers, using definitely more than necessary and getting it on the sheets. But Kurt didn't say anything, instead only spreading his legs wider in encouragement.

Blaine slipped one finger in, picking a pace and sticking to it as he added a second and a third finger. Kurt rocked with the motions, knuckles white as his fingers curled elegantly around the posts of the headboard. He moaned praises, but never Blaine's name, only ever "fuck," and "yes," and "please god more!"

Not that Blaine really noticed, keep in mind.

Kurt's nails dug into his arms and hips bucked in want. Kurt glared him down until finally Blaine aligned his cock and started to sink in.

As heat engulfed him, everything came to the surface. How warm it was, and how loud they were being in the silence of the isolated room; how hot Kurt looked and how wrong this was, how much they would both come to regret it in the morning. And, then, the kicker—the biggest thing in all of this.

_Blaine Micheal Anderson was losing his virginity._

To Kurt Elizabeth Hummel (or so the rumor mill said) in someone's bedroom as someone's house, with booze pumping in their veins and pounding in their heads.

And it was too late to go back; even if Blaine pulled out—which, by the way, no way in hell was he doing  _that—_ he'd still have lost his virginity.

It was that thought, that he had lost his 'innocence' anyways, that maybe he should just continue anyways.

And that he did.

His hands pressed into Kurt's skin in a way meant to leave bruises, and even though Kurt dodged each attempt at a kiss, it didn't stop Blaine from peppering hickies all across his shoulders and collar bone. Besides, with each bite or bruise Blaine left behind, Kurt gave an especially sharp, high pitched gasp. And his back arch and his arms wound around Blaine in an attempt to claw at his back.

"Fuckin' shit, so good, fuck me harder," Kurt spewed filthy words directly into Blaine's ear. It wasn't much of a turn on, but it wasn't a turn off either. So Blaine picked up his pace, ignoring the way the headboard now slammed into the wall each time.

He blinked again, and was suddenly aware of the fact that he was going to come soon; and that train of thought led to the one where he realized that he wasn't wearing a condom—he was fucking Kurt Hummel  _bareback_. And again, he couldn't be bothered to care. He grunted out something akin to a warning and Kurt spluttered in reply "oh fuck yeah, give it to me, come inside me," and Blaine didn't have the strength to disobey.

He jerked his hips forward, stuttering, pulling them out, and slamming back in again as he came. Kurt's back bent like a bow as he  _screamed_  before it dissolved into moans and blissed out hysterics. Vaguely, Blaine felt the wet slide of come between their stomachs. It gave Blaine a sense of pride, to know he'd been a good enough fuck to get Kurt Freaking Hummel off.

Kurt opened his arms, sighing as Blaine took his place between them. It was a little too intimate, probably, but neither of the said anything. Instead, they fell asleep.

)

Blaine woke up to the chill of an empty bed, and the stench of booze still permeating the air. He looked around groggily, and redressed slowly. There were voices muttering outside the bedroom door, which he hated to realize was cracked open just a bit. Blaine swallowed, and made sure his glasses were perched on his nose properly before he ducked out of the room and right into the walk of shame.

Cheerleaders whispered cattily, smirking and pointing at him; football players cat-called and hollered and whistled—all in mocking notes. Despite his face being flushed a deep red, Blaine walked with his head held high, down the stairs and back out of the house.

As he drove home, he could only hope that Monday would be better in someway.

)

Blaine walked into McKinley on Monday without a care in the world. No nasty or lewd comments had been left on his FaceBook or his Twitter. It seemed that no one even knew  _who_  Blaine had slept with, only the fact that Blaine had slept with _someone_.

Except, he was wrong.

The pointed stares and well informed snickering were a dead give away, and even if they hadn't been, the claps on the back and attempted high fives would've been. Jocks, fellow Gleeks, Cheerios, anyone and everyone was coming up to congratulate or pity hi in some way, including Sue Sylvester.

Finally, part way through the day, he came face to face with Kurt Hummel himself.

Kurt looked stricken, and was obviously searching for an escape route while Blaine walked towards him. "Listen, Kurt—?"

"Blaine—Anderson, look, I'm sorry. Saturday night.. it was a mistake. I was drunk, you were drunk," Kurt rocked on his heels, swirling his hips, "I was horny and you were horny,"

"Actually,"

"Anyways, as I was saying. It was a mistake, and it can't ever happen again. Like, ever." Kurt patted Blaine's shoulder awkwardly. "But no hard feelings right?" Kurt nodded as if Blaine had answered. "Awesome. And I'm gonna tell people that nothing went down between us. Can't have that for my reputation, can I?"

Kurt laughed, and it was that same sound of glasses shattering on tiled floors. "I—what?"

"Bye Blaine! It was great seeing you this weekend!" Kurt started to turn and walk away. "But maybe you should stay away from the parties. You'll get eaten alive."

As he watched Kurt Hummel's retreating form, Blaine couldn't help but feel as if that had already happened.


End file.
